


The Raider's Birth

by wiggles1984



Series: The Warsmith [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25259581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiggles1984/pseuds/wiggles1984
Summary: In the ashes of the Horus heresy a new anti-hero is born, casting off the shackles of both Imperium and Chaos Charon and his band strike out to protect humanity, Humanity however may not want such heroes. In this first story Charon establishes his Warband coming up against unexpected threats and "saving humanity" by killing a bunch of them
Series: The Warsmith [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830031
Kudos: 5





	The Raider's Birth

The dust fell all around him, it was a bitter dust, cloying and grey black. He was sure that it was merely the result of the trillions of fires but to him it was symbolic, it was the ashes of his hope. Rage boiled in him for a moment, the PROMISE of victory had been so.. So tangible and now they were evacuating. Harried by that dog’s lackeys, already shells were falling into their staging area where only 2 days before millions of astartes and their auxiliaries had mustered for a last great push into the palace. His role had been an insult, and yet that insult was easier to bear than this. The Astartes had been defeated, they had been crushed, their great hope had fallen to the enemy and now they fled. The thought of the word turned his tongue to vile acid and he spat, his acidic sputum already dissolving the rockcrete at his feet. A passing auxiliary glanced at him before turning puce and fleeing with a crate towards the evacuation ships, evacuation ships, he chewed on the concept for a moment. The astartes had never fled, never fallen back but the panic that gripped them now was appalling, even the filthy berserkers of the World Eaters sensed it as they rolled like a gore soaked tide into their own troop transports. 200 metres behind him a shell landed obliterating 112 men of the grand onyx guard, the transmissions were coming thick and fast including one that pulled at his very existence.

“This is Iron Lord to all of my sons, we are leaving. Horus has fallen, mee…” Static kept cutting the transmission off, the comms officer, a human from his own expeditionary force kept glancing nervously at him as the connection washed out over, and over. He was not so petty as to blame the small mortal for something outside of his control, however he fixed the man with a glare

“Find me the end of that message specialist” he snarled and the man nodded with fresh perspiration rolling down his face. More thumping shells fell amongst the assembling Onyx Guard, and he waved their officer over. 

“Captain explain why your men are patiently being blown to smithereens?” He asked with a curl of disdain in his voice

“Most noble sire” the man bowed almost double “We show our loyalty to the most holy warmaster by maintaining discipline!” the man was terrified he realised

“Horus is dead!” he snapped and the man flinched “And perturabo needs your men'' without hesitating he drew his pistol and blew the man's intestines out. He deliberately chose a gut shot for the pain he hoped it would cause. Waving over what he hoped was the man's second in command “You will mount your wretched regiment, I will not tolerate any losses. Then you will link up with the iron warriors fleet, do you understand” he leaned into the man's face seeing the horror in his eyes. 

“Sire” the man bleated “I am attached to the honourable word bearers legion” seeing the giant IRon warrior raising his bolt pistol the man hurried on “but of course I will follow my orders!” he cleared his throat now “who should I say is ordering me to do this my lord?” The man was ready to faint in terror and an errant shell blast actually wrung a low scream from him

“I am Warsmith Charon” he growled, glancing North he saw streaks of fire begin to spread as a heavy armour engagement broke out “Be quick about mounting up, in an hour that battle” he pointed with a heavy, armoured finger “will be here”. The man sprinted back to his regiment and in moments the static mortals were abuzz with activity, from behind Charon the whine of an anti grav engine announced the arrival of his outriders. His second in command Derris the Silver handed approached at incredible speeds only slewing his bike at the last moment for a drifting break maneuver. Charon watched the whole performance impassively, no man could truly be trusted but Derris… he trusted. The man was a hot head, but he was loyal to a fault, an unusual trait in the sons or perturabo who always jockeyed for position. That, Charon mused, made Derris an asset almost beyond compare, he was no mean warrior either. The man pounded across the hot rockcrete and snapped an almost hilariously tight salute

“Solar Auxilia supported by Dorn’s bastards will be inside perimeter 2 inside 10 minutes” he reported breathlessly “About 2000 Auxilia and 50 Fists”. Charon glanced to his left where a hololith represented the embarkation zone and two lines existed. The first blue line was his second perimeter, he had given 100 men to Sergeant Levant to engage any enemies with delaying actions. Given that Levant only had 10 Iron Warriors Charon estimated they would buy at most 20 minutes, he pointed back towards the ferocious fire fight

“What is happening there Lieutenant?” Derris waved to the eastern perimeter that dropped away into a recess known as the Southern bowl confusingly   
“The scars have pinned down the heavy armour of one of Horus’s… well I suppose they are someone else's Sons of Horus.” 

Charon made a gesture rotating the hololith, he considered his options. If the Sons of Horus fell the Scars would tear into his primary perimeter with little resistance, he glanced up at the landers. Only a third had thus far made it off the planet, and the Auxiliaries were strung out attempting to jam into any transport that had capacity. He cursed the Legion and specifically the trident who had placed him at this remote civilian starbase, his orders to hold it and supply the front had not just robbed him of true glory it now meant that he was the frontline for evacuating the same fools who had betrayed him. A part of him, the part that had made it to warsmith without ever being given his own grand company, wanted to just board those transports and leave these fools to their damnable fate. Another, the part of him that meant he had deserved it, knew that more was at stake than his pride, he knew that he could make something here. A name, glory, a future. He glanced at the ruddy ash streaked sky, the apocalypse was on terra once more and he had been a harbinger of that apocalypse. Now he was a defeated man fleeing a vengeful enemy.

“Derris” still looking up at the rain of ash “We must do three things”  
“My lord?” Derris half bowed  
“We must repulse the Fists coming from the North, we must rescue the idiot Sons of Horus and their valuable armour” He paused letting the ash settle on his flat mark 3 face plate before suddenly turning to Derris and seizing him by the shoulders and pressing his face into Derris’s “ and we must LIVE!”

Inside Perimeter one Levant and his Iron Warriors lay flat and still in the ash, the stuff was now 3 layers deep and concealed him completely, his men were similarly obscured. They lay in the fold between two hills, above them 90 men of the Thokara had set up a hard point from which to repulse any attackers. Thanks to the lay of the land it was impossible to bypass this position and Levant had mined their west to deter any attempts to do so. He had done it almost idly days before and now it may serve to keep them long enough for that bastard Charon to get them off of here. His comm crackled to life, it was the aforementioned bastard

“Levant”  
“Charon, sir” he replied with disdain pouring from his tone  
“Don’t be an insolent bastard Levant, we are Iron warriors not froth mouthed berserkers or Word bearers mumbling their prayers.” Levant’s face twisted into a grimace, the worst bit was the bastard was right.   
“Sorry, sir” the link crackled for a moment  
“You have 50 fists supported by around 2000 auxilia descending on you, they will be with you in 5 minutes” Levant cursed and his men shifted in sympathy beside him  
“Should we withdraw?” he asked hopefully  
“No, you MUST hold for at least 20 minutes Levant, I swear upon the Primarch I will not leave you to die but you MUST hold” Levant felt his blood boil  
“We’re all going to die here, don’t you get it nothing can change that!” he roared, his men actually turned to look at him  
“Shut up Levant, you have everything an Iron Warrior could want. A reinforced position, knowledge of the enemies location, the opportunity to kill Dorn’s bastard progeny” Levant felt shame wash over him then. He felt the eyes of his men on him  
“We’ll do it, but if you betray us I will survive somehow and hunt you down!” he thought he heard the ghost of a chuckle  
“Noted” and with that the link went dead. His second, Legionnaire Cisten was staring at him, even through the helmet he felt that  
“Cisten, we wait for them to pass us and we come up in the middle of them.” He opened a vox to the strongpoint “Troopers of the Thokara, the enemy approaches. We will remain in situ so once the enemy strikes 500 meters bracket their position with bullets and refrain from using explosives' ' a series of affirmative orders came over the vox and Cisten returned to his relaxed watching position. After a few minutes he heard them, the engines of a hundred tanks and tramp of thousands of feet, the emperor's men had come.

The fire from the bunker met the imperials sending them scurrying to cover, the first two minutes was a one sided affair as the thokara punished the mortals and they struggled to leverage a fire base. The bunker was beautifully placed, it was placed so no tank could gain a bead without being exposed for a good 20 seconds. The thokara gunners made 5 tanks pay while clusters of infantry tried to dig in. But as the gunners killed tanks they created cover, and with a sudden renewed purpose heavy gunners began to land telling shots. Enemy tanks then exploded over the ridge, 20 leman russ ranks supported by a single land raider. Two were picked off before eighteen battle canons blinded the gunners long enough for another 10 tanks to race into the valley. Levant saw his moment as the rear most tank was a malcador. He almost chuckled with delight as the formation veered too far right and 2 struck mines. The formation then overcorrected putting its course parallel to his position. He had considered revealing himself in the thick of the infantry but the enemy commander was smart and was focusing on preserving his forces. So a hijacked tank it was, he just prayed charon didn't fail him. 

Inside the formation of tanks the Malcador class tank rotated on its axis placing round after round of battle cannon shell onto the beleaguered bunker. Inside the turret tank commander Amandah West practically snarled with joy as her tank punished the filth, the siege had been hell on Earth and even now her mind reeled from it. Now the victorious Imperials were surging forth harrying their erstwhile brothers and sisters, already she had crushed a whole squad of the Red and Gold Thousand sons. In her hand a bloody, scorched, leather tome of the Lectitio Divinitatus was clutched in her hands like a totem. She muttered the words of faith as her loader placed shell afer shell into the breach, the roaring of the cannon to her sounded like the bellows of rage the loyal astartes had issued as they fought their former brothers in arms and their… Demonic enemies. Once the use of the lectitio divinitatus had been proscribed but no longer, she clutched it to her chest and hot tears rolled down her filthy face the truth had finally been acknowledged. He was a God… something interrupted her reverie even over the thrum of the engine and Thump of the cannon. A scratching sound, from the escape hatch maybe? She glanced down as the hatch exploded inwards, shards of plasteel lodged in her eyes filling her head with agony and reducing her last moments to a red blur as she screamed. Over the sounds of her screams she heard the death of her crew, the hard bang of a bolt pistol and revving choke of a chainsword. Finally she sensed a presence loom over her

“Mine now mortal” it growled and she began to recite His prayer before a chainsword buried itself in her belly lodging by her spine. Levant shoved the commander from her seat and began sighting the turret on the Malcador’s compatriots, within moments his squad had control over the tanks systems and they began obliterating the loyalists' Armour. The enemy forces didn’t even realise what was happening thanks to the chaos of the conflict with the bunker, the human forces were too overwhelmed to even recognise the change in battlefield dispositions. When Levant and his squad slewed the Malcador around the nearest squad commanders sent plaintive cries that the tank was striking friends. They clearly were of the belief that their compatriot was disoriented, their Astartes overlords were under no such illusion. Levant slammed his shoulder into the turret of the tank as a blw smashed into the right, without orders his driver was already turning the blasted machine on its axis to meet the new threat. The Imperial fists Land Raider was racing towards them, its lascannon sponsons were spitting Bright lances at Levant’s Malcador. His driver began backing off but Levant kicked downwards booting the idiot in the head

“Stop you idiot, have you taken leave of your senses?” The Iron Warrior looked through his commander's sight at the advancing tank “We have no chance at range, our only hope is to get within range to prevent them getting a fix and to hit their rear armour, Full forward!” the driver grunted and slammed it into gear. Levant watched the Land raider get closer, it’s front Glacis may as well have been a steel cliff for all the current load out of his tank was concerned but he also knew the Land Raider could struggle against a rapidly closing target. His guess was rewarded in mere moments as the commander of the Land raider clearly ordered his driver to ease off, this was what Levant had hoped for. Regardless of its inability to track properly a shot struck the front position vaporising the Iron Hand there and eviscerating the armour. Levant offered thanks to the Machine spirit that it had not lost speed and he began to snap orders, the turret began swinging around. However halfway another Lascannon blast destroyed the mechanisms. Levant began to wildly estimate his next maneuver, a thought popped into his head and he tried to reject it… but.. What other choice did he have?   
“Right shut up listen up” he snapped “on my word driver Jam the right track in hard reverse, gunner slave the firing mechanism to me” tensely his men complied. The Land raider filled his vision and they began sailing past   
“NOW!” he shouted and the driver filled his order, the right track beban digging into the dirt practically lifting the tank and turning it round on a pivot. The Land raider came back into the guns angle and he squeezed the firing stud, time seemed to slow as he traced the shell vomiting from the barrel. He remembered a war game where he had been roundly mocked for attempting just such a maneuver. Once you were out of favour of the Iron Lord you could never return, and so he had found himself here in this blasted moment putting into practice a maneuver that he had been roundly mocked for. The moment passed and he was back in the cab as it slammed down with all the force of a tank that really had no right to be even momentarily airborne. He was stunned by the slamming impact, he came to within moments hearing the engine sputter and die. The loader had moved to the rent in the armour and was laying down fire at the advancing enemy infantry, the left hand sponson was a smoking ruin apparently having been blown off in the headlong charge. Levant surveyed the bunker through the commander's scope and found only a smouldering ruin, the ridgeline reminiscently empty of rescue. Levant nodded to himself, it was the end of the world after all. He turned out and began popping shots off at the enemy infantry from the top hatch, his men were putting a good amount of fire down bearing in mind there were only 5 of them left. He saw death crest the hill, the snarling head of a warhound titan. It moved its snout towards them as if it had sniffed them out and began pacing faster and faster. Levant saw that its right Arm ended in a sparking mess but it's right was a Vulcan heavy bolter, he almost sighed but contented himself with killing the mortals who faced him. He supposed he should be honoured. Most men were killed by a bayonet to the gut or a grenade at their feet, he would have the honour of being killed by one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy. Above him the warhound began to orient its last remaining weapon at Levant, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge it.

Charon swayed in the Fellblades command chair, around him the Sons of Horus bustled about getting the tank ready for combat. Servo skulls had watched Levant’s almost suicidal charge and now they watched the warhound crest the hill, Charon smiled. The Fellblade was made for this, he had considered abandoning Levant but to be frank he needed every man, even one as cynical as Levant. The gunner began calling range…  
Levant stared up at the Vulcan Heavy bolter as it clunked and loaded, clearly the weapon had been dry but now the princeps was loading it in an almost leisurely manner. Before the cycle could complete a pair of accelerator cannon shells smashed into the void shield collapsing it and staggering the warhoudm. Its head snapped up searching for the new threat but two more shots of indeterminate origin smashed into its torso, the sounds of dozens of engines brought Levant's attention to the opposite slope of the valley. 2 Fellblades and 8 Falchions laid an overwhelming amount of firepower into the enemy forcing the infantry into retreat and the enemy warhound back from whence it came. Levants comms suddenly crackled into life  
“Sergeant, prepare to move out, we are overdue to leave” Charon’s voice crackled into his ear. Levant snorted, he would die soon he was sure but until then at least charon appeared to be holding his end of the bargain.

20 minutes later the Iron Warriors and Sons of Horus were back at the rapidly emptying spaceport, enemy shells fell thickly on the outskirts now practically drowning out speech. The commander of the Sons of Horus, one Tarnes Hesketh, dismounted from the second fellblade and hurried to reach Charon. Despite being an astartes the man had the aspect of a worried accountant instead of the warrior God he was. 

“I must reach the legion now warsmith!” the man looked at the remaining 2 transports “I don’t see how we can do that with only 2 Iron warriors transports” He raised an eyebrow and Charon almost laughed at gesture

“You can't,” Charon said simply, he noticed the other Sons of Horus approaching. Charon was outnumbered here on the tarmac. His 1000 men were embarked and only Levant’s 5 and Derris remained with him, the crew of the 26 vehicles came to 70 men. They weren’t hostile and yet.. They weren’t friendly. Charon tasted opportunity and he struck “Horus is dead” the green armoured men practically reeled. “The battle is over”. He waved his arm at his transports “I can offer you rescue, I can offer you purpose!” moving to the nearest fell blade he clambered up so he could address all the tank crews. “I HAVE 1000 men! 50 Tanks! We can forge a new destiny! A destiny away from our lords and masters who have thrown us like grist to the mill!”

“To what end?” Someone shouted, Charon smiled inside his helm

“To the end of humanity, not these new Gods! Not the Old Gods! US! GODS OF MEN! WE WILL FIGHT FOR ALL MEN! THEY WILL LIVE TO SERVE US AND WE WILL KEEP THEM ALIVE!” Nodding now, well except for the commander who was scowling

“And you will, what, lead us? Ignore your primarch who is even now calling you to arms?” Charon fixed him with the red lenses of his helm

“Yes'' he saw the man move and knew, this was his moment. Without hesitation he swung down drawing his Power Axe and storm shield. The mans’ power sword launched forward and Charon met it with a boom of two competing power fields, without hesitating he swung the shield outwards forcing the man back. He stepped into the space swinging his Axe forcing the man to parry, as the man blocked a body cut Charon swung his shield again smashing the Son of Horus from his feet. Charon swung an overhead chop that took the man's legs from the knees. Hot rich astartes blood jetted over the dry rockcrete quickly soaking into it, he finished the commander with a downwards smash of the edge of his shield. 

“Now mount up” he ordered his new tank crews and they hurried into their vehicles to embark.

Three hours later the transports had linked up with Charon’s personal Grand Cruiser and were approaching the translation point for the warp. His crew worked efficiently around him and Charon studied his star charts… the galaxy awaited, no chattel slavery for him. He would be an iron warrior as they should be, cold hearted saviours of man.

412 days after the siege

Charon sat in his private quarters, he was tired. They all were, the imperial pursuit had been relentless. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his head and inspected the sector map before him. They hung in a dark matter nebula known only as QV-73-Y. A decidedly non poetic name, he thought wryly this suited the iron warriors and placed his finger upon a planet far from them. They were calling it the iron cage, a trap his Father had led the imperial fists into. Charon felt a pang at this but ruthlessly crushed it, this revenge, this endless seeking of recognition had led his Father to this idiotic point. Moving his finger halfway across the massive chart he found their position again, merely a black smear on the yellowing parchment QV-73-Y was at high warp 6 weeks from the iron cage. Some had clamoured for them to at least provide rescue should the trap become a disaster but he had ruthlessly resisted all calls, 12 men lay dead for questioning his decision. A chime sounded and Charon activated the lights, he had been seated in near darkness, they all had, husbanding power until their next move. Derris entered and snapped to attention

“Forgive me warsmith” he half bowed, Charon smiled a bitter smile  
“Still warsmith am I?” he asked  
“Always my lord!” Derris looked shocked at the question, he was leading a faction of Charon’s men known as the faithful. They appeared to be rationalising Horus’s death by cleaving to their leader with an almost indecent intensity. Regardless Charon was grateful for the 200 or so faithful as they acted as his guards and enforcers, other factions were emerging but the loyal 200 were the first  
“Forgive me Derris this… Blot wears at the soul” he waved a hand at the porthole that showed only velvet darkness. Nothing as far as the eye could see, which was nowhere.   
“My lord I think I may have a suggestion for our next move” Derris appeared to be positively beaming and so Charon nodded and exited his quarters to the bridge where the senior officers were already gathered.  
“In future Derris” Charon whispered to the man “do not ambush me with the senior officers, I am always waiting for them not the other way around” he was apocalyptically furious. It undermined his position and he already saw speculation in the eyes of several officers, including the new head of the Sons of Horus. The man had taken the almost farcical nomme de Guerre of thunder walker, Charon had left it as the man had managed to keep the tank crews in line. Joining him was Levant who Charon had rewarded by making third in command and giving command of 100 men as well as 2 thousand human auxiliaries. Only 100 Thokara remained and Levant appeared to be using them to try and retrain the idiotic Onyx guard, the man currently appeared as dour as ever. His thick jaw set in what could only be described as a sulk, he at least had no interest in politics or position. Next to him was Eamon Wist, he led the second company and specialised in ship to ship boarding and held the majority of breacher and destructor squads. Unlike Levant he had a half smirk, clearly sensing his lord's discomfiture, Charon trusted him precisely as far as he could throw him. Next to him was the third company’s leader an entirely unremarkable man known only as The silent captain, Charon smiled internally, the name stemmed from him having nothing to say not from any enigma the man possessed. Finally the human ship mistress Laana Die gelt joined them, her Charon nodded to, he saw a way clear to reassert his authority over these proceedings.

“Ahh good you have all assembled, Derris has found us a target.” He turned to the embarrassed looking Derris “Please brief the others” he waved his hand over the hololith indicating his fellow commanders. Thunder walker frowned in confusion and Eamon cocked an eyebrow in surprise, Derris began the briefing without missing a beat and Charon smiled internally at the discomfiture of his captains. 

“The resupply station near Arsturus secundus” Derris waved over the Hololith that rearranged to show a trinary system with 8 planets. Charon knew of it only by reputation but Derris was clearly more familiar “It sits astride a very minor trade route and to that end is only protected by a small squadron of destroyers''. The Hololith zoomed in on a square space station locked in a stationary orbit over a dead planet. “The destroyers spend their time docked unless they are confronted with a threat, and that's where we come in'' Charon judged his moment and jumped in

“There are 3 destroyers for our 3 senior companies” Charon made a twisting gesture and brought the destroyers into focus “Iconoclast class” he hissed with satisfaction. “Derris, Levant and Wist, these are yours.” all 3 reacted in line with their characters. Levant shrugged, Derris beamed and saluted and Wist nodded assuming that of course he was entitled to a craft. Charon continued his orders

“Captain of the 4th” he refused to use the man's ridiculous name “Thunder Walker” okay that was actually worse “You will join me in assaulting the facility itself, we will loot supplies, the human auxiliares will join us. Shipmaster any requests?” The short red headed woman bowed slightly

“Yes sire, if you could prioritise repair supplies that would head my list. Secondary is fighter parts and torpedoes” Charon nodded

“Very good, you will jump us into the mandeville point. From there the assault teams will slip onto the station using assault boats. Once we have engaged the station's defence forces and boarded the Iconoclasts you will bring the Steel lance in close and provide cover in case of reinforcing vessels. Any questions?” The various captains and shipmasters indicated there weren’t and Charon dismissed them to return to their companies and mounted his command throne. “Start the Timer!”, over the view screens a giant board flashed to life beginning the mission count, 00.00.01. 

In the void lights exploded into life along the length of the Grand cruiser, her city sized Engines roared into life pushing the vessel slowly into motion. Gradually she slipped from the cloying embrace of the nebula, last tendrils of gas trailing after the vessel. Deeper into the nebula an ancient vessel lay silent, wreathed in darkness and holofields her captain and farseer watched the Mon-Keigh vessel leave their territory. Only 16 hours of real flight from their craftworld the vessel had almost been attacked and destroyed, the Farseer Mun’ath had prevented this though. The Captain turned to him

“Are you certain honoured Farseer? It is not too late” he indicated the screen displaying the retreating steel grey vessel

“Yes Captain, this… craft and these Mon-Keigh have an essential part to play in stopping the ancient ones. In saving our very craftworld” the farseer glided closer to the screen watching the vessel as it Brutalised its way through a tear in real space “There is a risk he may fall, but… if he doesn’t he will save us all!”

Mission timer 21:07:42

In the belly of the ship Wist prepared his wargear, his Steel grey plate and its yellow shoulder pad with the Black hazard stripes shone from the polish he had applied. In front of him sat his chest plate, MK 4 armour adorned with the Iron Warriors elongated skull, he considered it. What were they now? Charon had seized an opportunity and Wist supported that, but despite that he was an Iron Warrior. They had abandoned their lord and master to face Dorn and his bastards, and for what? A life of a blackshield? Wist had been a Terran all those centuries before, he had hated the old order and had embraced Pertuarbo with almost delirious joy. But Joy had turned to bitterness as over the centuries Pertuarbo used and discarded Captain after Captain, conquest had been replaced by mind numbing Garrison duty. And then the final horror! The betrayal and destruction of Olympia, he had watched the planet burn, the almost liquid fires roil across her surface and he had felt nothing but hatred. Not hatred for the poor fools below, but hatred for his Father, he had thrown all their loyalty into that fire. Then came Istvaan and finally the assault on the palace, Wist treasured loyalty and his very soul felt torn by the competing demands on him. Charon, well he was an opportunist, but his rallying cry of humanity’s lords and saviours was something Wist could support… for now. But he swore there in that darkened arming hold, should Charon stumble, should he fall, should he turn to the harvest of mankind like so many others of their brother legions.. Wist would end him  
In the hangar bay the Captain known as the silent captain sat calibrating the controls on the craft in front of him, he wore his mk 3 helm as he had always done. Many wondered why and indeed he had never removed it in the sight of any of his brothers, the Captain shifted. He wondered why the previous occupant of this suit of armour had been so reticent to show his face, certainly upn removal of the helm it had been so unremarkable that the Captain had almost laughed at his luck. He had spotted Charon in the days before the invasion of the solar system and had come to respect his… opportunism. In the chaos of the retreat the Captain… Sergeant then, and his squad had infiltrated the Iron warriors force. That was something the Alpha legion excelled at after all, the failure of Horus’s crusade against the Emperor had delighted the Sergeant who, whilst not loyal, hated killing his fellow humans and Astartes. If Charon fell to the Gods that appeared to have corrupted the word Bearers and others the Sergeant would stop him, until then… Charon was his master.

Thunder Walker returned to the vehicle bay, he hated being surrounded by the iron Warriors, he hated being on this vessel, most of all he hated their so-called warsmith. The Sons of Horus, the name was a bitter insult now, followed the strong and when Charon had killed that fool Tibis he had earned the respect of a majority of the ranking tankers. Thunder Walker had had no choice then but to follow the fools, he had very little support of his own however. Only his loader who had taken the name Striking Mantis supported him, he entered the bay and sought the man out. The use of war names had spread like wildfire in the tank crews since the death of horus, he suspected it was an attempt to expunge their past, he himself cared little. He was a Son of Horus till death, let the others twist and try to hide who they were

“We attack an imperial supply base” he whispered

“Well at least we war with our enemy instead of hiding” Striking Mantis replied

“We are to support the Warsmith, Predators only” Thunder Walker sneered. Mantis nodded and brought his slate up 

“We could bring Steel rain and Cthonia reborn?” Walker nodded in reply and turned to find the crews, he turned then and addressed Mantis

“If an opportunity should present itself, we will slay Charon and claim this ship for our own” Mantis smiled in agreement

Mission timer 42:19:23

Charon felt the subtle shift in gravity as the lander exited the hangar bay, 30 troop landers and a single vehicle dropship flew in a V formation behind him. The Steel Lance melted back into the debris at the edge of the planet's gravity well preparing to move out once they had engaged the enemy. Charon considered the supply depot, his instinct was to fortify it and turn it into a hard point, but ultimately it was too exposed for too little gain. The layout was simple, a huge hangar bay for the storage of goods some 50 kilometres long with offices and barracks running along its length. Spiking off at right angles were the three docking pylons for the Garrisoned destroyers arrayed around the hangar entrance, Charon’s plan was simple and violent. Straight in through the Hangar, set up his armour in a supporting position then use that as a base to advance from. Derris assured him from his previous visit that the garrison had at that time only been 2-300 mortals with only half of those being armsmen. Charon had mentally added a zero and had brought nigh on 300 legionnaires, the breachers would land first followed by Charon, Derris and the few suits of Terminator armour they had. Next the Predators would land and the armoured groups would push up followed by the disembarking infantry. Derris planned the whole operation to take place inside of 2 hours, the key part would be securing the pylons and then the destroyers. The Breachers would cover the landing and then split to take the fight to the narrow pylon corridors. The terminator armour clad form of derris sat still in his harness, Charon looked over at his second in command

“Derris?” he asked

“Sire?” The mans helmets lens pulsed to life and he turned to regard his lord

“Never embarrass me like that again, I never want to find others waiting for me on my bridge” Derris’s head could not drop due to the tyrant pattern armour but Charon almost felt him wilt

“Sire I did not think!” He began

“No you did not” Charon agreed “Derris you must think, you are my most trusted servant. I need you to consider the things that I have forgotten. You are my protection, and my conscience, together we will lead a war to keep humanity alive.” Derris seemed to swell with this speech “More you are my eyes and ears with the Captains, I need to know before they know what they are planning and if I need to move against them… well then I need that too.” 

“I will not fail you Sire!” he boomed and Charon satisfied himself with a regal tilt of the head.

Mission time 43:00:01

Wist Locked his shield with his men and braced the bottom of the shield against the floor grates, the vessel rumbled to a stop and then thumped down. The Landbay door slammed down and the 1st breachers advanced, 200 metres away human workers and guards looked up in surprise. Wist gave them not a moment to process the Astartes and opened fire, within moments his men had turned 40 of the supply stations residents to bloody messes. Even then the alarm did not begin to blare, instead a voice crackled over the tannoy

“Please noble sirs! We are loyal imperials!” 

“We aren't,” Wist muttered and continued his lock step advance. Up ahead armsmen began taking up cover positions and Wist and his breachers made a solid adamantium shield wall. Marching in lockstep they laid down withering fire, the voice continued wailing until a commander of the armsmen with more steel than whoever was pleading for their lives shot the floating speaker. Behind Wist the Terminators were disembarking, he checked the mission clock: 43:12:37, up ahead to the left and right were the access points for the docking rings. Fire began to pound into their boarding shields and the advance slowed as his men began to lean into the weight of kinetic energy. Spotting an exposed heavy trooper Wist put a bolt into the humans throat blowing his intact head clean off, the line was slowing more and more now as enemy heavy weapons smashed into it. One Astartes 4 men to Wists’ left was blown clear from his feet by a krak missile, another fell behind the line as his shield was bisected by the white hot blast of a las cannon. Wist snarled, and fired a brace of shots into a cluster of redeploying armsmen killing all three with his bolts. The astartes fire began to force the enemy back, a sudden beeping brought Wist back to the moment

“SPILT, Formations one and two follow mission parameter Alpha 1!” Seamlessly the line became two boxes, the humans hesitated at this sudden movement but before they could respond the Giant forms of Charon, Derris and their three faithful brothers clad in the monstrous Tyrant pattern Terminator armour engaged them. Wist barely spared them a glance, as he entered the left hand branch of the docking ring, his force was the larger needing to take 2 pylons. Ahead a barricade of armsmen opened fire with a ripping sound as their lasguns fired on high power rapid fire. One of his astartes was blasted from his feet by the focused fire and Wist kicked the fool's corpse for dropping his guard. Wist leaned into his shield and sighted onto the forehead of one armsmen vaporising the soldiers skull, advancing into the energy fire he sprayed 6 shots into the barricade blowing huge chunks out of it. Behind the barricade those same holes blew ragged wet gouges into the men and women sheltering behind. In a moment he was on top of the barricade, with a powerful shove he collapsed the structure pushing it back on the cowering mortals behind. In moments his men had finished them, he gave snapped orders

“Emryn, tell off 30 men. You’re heading right and finding the corridor for the far left pylon. We’re heading central.” Wist’s 40 men took the fork, 3 groups of enemies engaged them and all died for no losses at Wist's end. He found it at last, his least favourite gravitic shift. A yellow panel leading into a corridor directly above him, glancing up the corridor his worst fears were confirmed. A mass of enemy soldiers guarded the entrance to the Destroyer, and to enter the corridor his men would have to step onto the disorienting gravity bridge panel. He had his means and ways though, he was an Astartes, a God of war. 

“15 men, Form a shield wall. Facing up! You and you” he pointed at 2 of his men carrying Heavy bolters. The other 22 men, you’re with me. On my order we shift and they fire, ready?”

“Ready!” barked all 40 and with a nod his plan snapped into motion. The 15 men moved with shields held above their heads, instantly fire was slamming into their shields but they held. The 2 heavy bolter wielding Legionnaires stepped under the shield and began firing stitches of bolts through a tactically formed gap. The enemy fire slackened and Wist’s men moved, stepping onto the Yellow panel their world spun for a moment. Astartes thought they were even Wist’s men took a moment and 2 men were killed by enemy fire, one blown open by a missile and the other’s head literally melted by a ball of plasma. But now Wist was oriented, and his men slammed their shield into an impenetrable wall, their bolter fire began to reap a bloody tally. Wist gutted a man with a well placed bolt before blasting the knees off another, the entire line suddenly knelt as the heavy bolter armed men joined them. The guttural roar of the heavy bolters smashed frail bodies and barricades apart, those it did not kill were suppressed. The moment the fire stopped Wist stood and his men began to advance as a run, shooting any who rose the second line followed them more slowly finishing off any they missed. At the Docking port of the destroyer an officer appeared, looking frantic she attempted to override the locking mechanism. Wist used his momentum to smash her into the wall behind smashing her skull in the process. He was in and the destroyer was as good as theirs, checking in the squad under the command of Emryn they confirmed the entry to the destroyer. He cursed however as the final squad reported failure, the Iconoclast was already underway, and without them. He opened a line to the Steel Lance

“Dagger loose, repeat Dagger loose”

Mission timer 44:50:32

Laana Di Gelt sat on her command throne, set slightly forward from Warsmith Charon’s, she was in a position to survey all the recessed command stations. The Steel Lance was a unique model, she was a clear amalgamation of many different models of vessel. The recessed command stations were from some archaic ancient model and the hull was a more modern upgrade. Whatever ancient calamity had forced the marrying of two unique styles the ship mistress didn’t know, but in her mind there was no vessel that was as efficient. The throne gave her such a commanding position that she could monitor any station without the need to move if she elected not to, her command throne came with a personal viewscreen and was placed within the eyeline of the hololith display which she focused all her attention one now. The boarding party was moving with brutal efficiency along their various paths, the one that concerned her now were the third group of breachers. They were moving too slowly she saw, auspex scans confirmed that the Iconoclast was warming up, chatter from the comms on the breaching squad told her they were held up by a fixed emplacement. 

“Engineering, bring the reactor to full power, unshroud the engines!” The head enginseer made the sign of the mechanicum and his crew were already working. 

“Weapons!” she swung her command throne to face old Heskur on his mechanical legs, he was ancient and yet as strong as the bulkheads of this ship “run out the guns! Prepare for contact!” The deck began to shudder as Enginseer Elken’s crew shunted power into the drive, alarms began to wail as the deck crews prepared for combat. She heard the call of “dagger loose” which was the call sign for one of the destroyers slipping its mooring but it was irrelevant now. Like any good officer she had anticipated all variables and was already racing towards the still vulnerable destroyer. She watched the range pings as her vessel closed, hitting extreme range she began giving orders

“Helm change course to 323, elevation -42.” There was a strange moment like they had ridden too fast over a hill as the gravity generators struggled to keep pace with the motion of the ship. Laana narrowed her eyes as the Iconoclast fell into her starboard firing arc. “Starboard batteries, FIRE!” 

In the void the Steel Lance brought her plasma Macro cannons to bear, she was a hybrid between an Exorcist and a Vengeance class carrying Plasma Macro Cannons, a Dorsal lance and launch bays. The Lances and Plasma Macro cannons seared through the space between the vessels slamming into the escorts hastily raised void shields. They instantly collapsed, the Iconoclast turned present its engine stack to the ship mistress. 

On the bridge she frowned, what was their game? They were too far from the mandeville point to run, she began typing commands into her control panel moving the system map about. The guns continued blasting at the enemy vessel and she ordered the helm to trim in order to keep her guns trained on the destroyer. She returned her attention to the map… then she saw it. Cold fingers of fear pressed down from her scalp, a patrolling Emperor class ship, blocked from their initial scans as it had been behind the third sun but moving now slowly towards them! She cursed and opened a channel to the warsmith

“Sire we have trouble inbound”

Mission clock 51:08:12

“...Emperor class battleship INBOUND. I repeat we have an emperor class Battleship Inbound!” Die Gelt’s voice crackled over his headset. Not for the first time he damned Horus, Dorn and all the other Primarchs for this holy mess they found themselves in. Inside his suit of Tyrant armour the enemy fire spanged off harmlessly, it wasn’t like wearing a large set of power armour, it was more like driving a large person shaped tank. The visual feeds tracked his eyes and the support systems kept him supported and alive, he glanced down to check the map. They were 0.3 kilometers from the central offices and controlling this station, but now… He raised his Combi bolter and unloaded a whole clip into the defensive structure ahead, the plasteel structure held for a moment before collapsing inwards from the sheer pressure of the shot. The mortals inside were reduced to bloody scraps, further ahead 2 troop transports were rushing more soldiers to the front line, bracing Charon designated the target and let rip with his cyclone missile launchers. Derris joined him whilst the 3 faithful troopers covered them with storms of bolt fire. The impact of the missiles tore one of the vehicles open and flipped the other spilling broken troopers. Yelling into his vox to be heard he signalled Wist  
“Captain, report!” He could hear the bang of bolters and then Wist

“We have secured two fo the destroyers, the other has escaped but the lance is in pursuit.” More bolter shots in the background “We are mopping up the last bits of resistance”

“We have a battleship inbound, screen the Lance, we need to get as many supplies as possible” Charon drew a bead on a cluster of Armsmen and punished them for their lack of tactical awareness. His shots annihilated the first two and crippled the other three, Derris had closed to close combat range with a group of ten and was rendering them into bloody ruin. 

“Warsmith, I have an idea. We can do little against such a potent warship and your landers are not designed to carry enough goods to make this whole raid worth the effort” off to Charon's left he saw Onyx guard rushing up with a flamer. He covered their advance by firing shots at any targets that presented themselves, finally with a coughing whoomph sound the flamer drenched the enemy in burning promethium sending a dozen of them screaming from cover. This discomfited the enemy sufficiently that some began to break, adding to their sense of panic one of the predators surged forward and unleashed a hail of Autocannon shells. The enemy began to break and Charon put round after round into the fools retreating spines, ahead the cargo lift awaited. It was wide enough for him and Derris and maybe a few mortals. First he had to consider Wist’s proposal, he could see the merit, they could literally push the nose of his destroyer into the cargo bay and manually load it that way. If they failed to be swift then… then they would all die but that was true regardless. 

“Do it” Charon growled, mounting the elevator, he waved 5 troopers up to join him and Derris and they rode up to the administration level. 

Mission clock 1:00:01:01

The admin block was silent, abandoned offices in various states of disarray telling a silent story of how their arrival had turned the station upside down. In one room Charon saw desks literally turned over and in another papers still smouldered, up ahead he saw the main office and pushed inside. Behind the massive wood desk sat an ancient man wearing the collarless jacket of a local administrator, as Charon and his entourage entered the man stood shakily and in a tremulous voice

“Who are you and why have you turned your back on the Emperor?” Charon was thrown for a moment

“We are members of the Iron Warriors legion, and we were part of Horus’s rebellion” the man looked blankly at them for a moment

“Horus’s rebellion?” The man asked querously, like a lightning bolt Charon relaised. This isolated outpost was so far out that the war hadn’t even touched them, but the Battleship? 

“The battleship? Surely they told you?” Charon asked, the old man looked confused  
“What battleship?” Charon was incredibly confused now

“The one that the destroyer tried to escape to, the one heading in system from the direction of the suns?” Charon was getting angry, he couldn’t tell if the man was being obstinate or if the isolation had caused him to lose his mind. 

“The destroyer was trying to reach an old communication array, there should be no battleship. Especially approaching from the star, the only thing that comes from that direction is Xenos raiders and pirates” Charon shot the man then, he was next to useless to them, as a hostage he could have maybe been useful but not now.

“Shipmistress” he voxed

“Sire” she replied

“It’s not a battleship, it’s a pirate vessel inbound with a fake IFF. Cover Wist’s Destroyer he’s docking, Wist do you copy?” Charon was already striding back down to the cargo bay.

“Aye Sire, inbound now”

Mission timer 1:20:23:08

A destroyer is a graceful craft, capable of great feats of agility and maneuver, unless of course you are being asked to ram that destroyer into the open mouth of a hangar bay. The craft described a perfect loop before slamming through the docking field, it gouged a half kilometre long rent in the deck plating. Men and astartes hurried now bringing boxes to the opened bays, the other destroyer and the Grand cruiser circled like protective mother sharks. 30 minutes after the destroyer “landed” the enemy came within view, a ramshackle renegade vessel roughly the size of a Cruiser. The Shipmistress knew they had one mission, that was to protect the downed destroyer until it could be loaded. She pushed the engines hard now putting distance between herself and the vulnerable destroyer. The Pirate ship unleashed a torrent of wildly inaccurate bombardment shells which her helmsman effortlessly avoided, rotating the vessel whilst forcing the nose down she unleashed a double broadside. Bringing the center of the vessel back in line with the pirate she raked them with the dorsal lance batteries, the pirates now had range and a salvo of giant macro shells slammed into the void shielding. The Pirate ship disgorged fighters which the free destroyer moved to intercept, a ferocious battle erupted there, the destroyer pirouetting and diving. Strafing runs slipped past smashing into the supply station and sending sparks and explosions tearing through the hangar. 10 minutes after loading commenced the bulk of the goods were finally loaded, the Iron Warriors forces retreated onto the destroyer. No time for a proper extraction now, Wist ordered the Destroyers engines into reverse and it began to work itself free. On the bridge alarms screamed and impacts from enemy attacks shuddered through the bridge stations. With a shriek of tortured metal they freed themselves. The ship suddenly lurching free, turning hard to port the Lance was engaged in a lethal dance with the pirates.

“We’re free shipmistress, we have to get out of here before this goes from a win to a loss” bellowed Charon over the vox. 

“Aye aye sire!” her clipped reply came “If both destroyers could launch a barrage at coordinate 3576,33289,8172 we will be free too” Charon relayed this to the other destroyer and under cover of the missile salvo the Lance righted itself and burned hard for the Mandeville. The pirates clearly having not expected such ferocious resistance also broke off, with breathing time Charon ordered the Lance to finish the station and with the structure burning the raiders slipped quietly off into the warp.


End file.
